#ive done every treatment under the sun but nothing helps

[bambinification]

I have a weird case of a degenerative spine disease that has only been aided in severity by me being on a chemo drug (yikes) for 10 years and counting. So in honor of the fact that I do not and probably never will get adequate treatment for it, I'm going to start calling it chronic wasting disease instead

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye X — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

The entire house descended into an ominous silence. Yoongi could hear murmurs coming from through the door where Saito and Belle were still conversing. No one could really hear what they were talking about. He had a few ideas however. Taehyung sat down at the small dining table while Jungkook had his back faced to everyone, leaning over the study table.

Time was running out. In only a few minutes those doors were going to burst open and Yoongi knew he had to keep his heart hardened. Exposing and arresting Jungkook was not just an act of heroism but it broke so many manipulative ties. So many dens used vulnerable people as bait, Taehyung being one of those victims. The countless amounts of people who died or were severely damaged while Jungkook made money off of that suffering.

Those thoughts provided him with a new boost of determination. He was doing this for good. It was a heartless act for a broken hearted man but it was the right thing.

Glancing over at Taehyung, Yoongi tried to give him an apologetic look knowing this was not the right time to be adding more stress. But they both knew this was for their freedom.

Heat erupted like a volcano from his toes right up to his head. Hands trembling and eyes burning as Yoongi reached into his holster, carefully hearing the rustling outside of the house.

Heartbeat pounded in his ears muffling all sound for a moment but his chest felt the thud.

The door burst open as a small crowd of police officers marched in almost like an army of cockroaches except more organized. Dark uniforms contrasting with the soft warm tones of the house design.

One of the officers pointed a gun at Taehyung making him stand up from the chair and raise his arms in defense.

“Stand down, he’s not the one we want. Niether are the two women inside the bedroom.” Yoongi ordered simply glancing over his shoulder as he pulled the gun out of the holster. He watched Jungkooks’ movements carefully but the younger male stayed still. Almost like a statue of sorts. Even Yoongi grew convinced that the world finally froze for a moment to give them time to breathe except he could only hold his right now.

Then Jungkook turned his body around, reddened gaze and an unreadable expression adorned on his broken features. Eyes merely glanced at the officers as if he already expected their presence…or was just too heartbroken to really care. Finally that same eerie gaze fixated on Yoongi. “Suppose I should’ve guessed it. No medical apprentice would know how to work a gun that well.” He smiled sadly, eyes still a little glossy.

“Jeon Jungkook…” Yoongi sighed, tightening his grip on the gun and pretending he was dreaming for a moment to make it easier not to shake. “You’re under arrest. Don’t make this harder on yourself and just come with us.”

“I’ll go.” Jungkook nodded a lot longer than Yoongi was comfortable with.

He could recognize that silence from far too many arrests already. Not a single person went so willingly, even the innocent ones.

Before anyone was prepared, Jungkook grabbed the gun from the table and shot the guard next to the older male.

Almost like machines all the standing officers raised their guns while injured officer groaned, bleeding on the floor.

“No! Stand down!” Yoongi ordered in more of a growl now ensuring no shots were fired from the police officers to prevent casualties. Especially since Taehyung was still standing there, breathing heavily. Raising his own gun at the Jungkook, both men now had their weapons pointed at each other.

None of them made a move for the trigger nor were they determined on lowering their guns either.

-

Belle and Saito jumped at the sound of a gunshot from the other side. The younger womans’ memory now jolting to what was to be done today, she pushed herself off the bed. Pain shot through her entire lower body as she moved her legs to the side and got to her feet. Belle leaned onto the wall with a light groan.

Saito immediately held onto her arms to keep her from moving any further. “You need to stay here if there’s danger happening.”

“No—” She shook his head, gently patting her hand. “He’s not going to listen. I need to talk to him.”

“If someone pulls the trigger accidentally—”

“Then I’ll get shot.” Belle replied simply, walking past the woman trying to be as kind as possible. There wasn’t really anything else that was going to surprise her anymore. If death was the next option for her continued torture then it didn’t look too bad.

She opened the door harshly causing a gust of wind and dust to flow through her hair and dress. Belle’s heart dropped when she saw Jungkook and Yoongi pointing a gun to each other. She hated not knowing which side scared her most. Either way her trembling feet moved forward.

If both Yoongi and Jungkook were stubborn before, it quickly faded to a numbing feeling when they saw Belle stand smack damn in the middle of them.

Yoongis’ eyes widened seeing his gun pointed right at her back and Jungkook lost all his anger for a moment seeing the end of his weapon aimed at his wifes’ forehead.

“Belle, what’re you doing?” Jungkook asked in a breathy voice, immediately putting his gun down as Yoongi did too not wanting to have that view ever again.

“Turn yourself in.” Belles’ lips quivered but she stood her ground, not wanting to succumb to the pain anymore even though it felt so easy to do so now.

Jungkooks’ mouth moved in a subtle manner attempting to form words, eyes momentarily glancing over at Saito who stood at the door before looking back at Belle. “Yoongi betrayed us—” He leaned in as if to try and reason with the woman in an attempt of a private conversation.

“You—” Belle corrected. “He betrayed you. Not us.” Her features twisted welcoming another brewing sob as more tears gathering at her stinging eyes. “He’s helping me.”

Jungkooks’ expression deflated. A disquiet silence plunged into the warm room. “No…n-no you’re just tired, you’re saying things.” He forced out a chuckle but it quickly faded into a confused frown. “Just go back to the bedroom.” He reached out to hold onto her arms.

Belle pushed his arms away and shook her head. “It’s over, Jungkook.” She gulped down the lump in her throat. “Please let it be over. I don’t want to do this anymore.” Tears overflooded and streamed down her cheeks, voice crackling at every word. “It hurts too much now, I tried—” She gasped lightly. “I really tried to be good for you but it has to end. Let it end.”

It didn’t take a mind reader to see Jungkooks’ whole world crash and shatter right in front of eyes when his lips parted and he lost control of his tears again. As his body shook and his heart clenched until it grew ten times smaller, the grip on his gun loosened. Metal clanged onto wood making Belle jump a little.

Yoongi gestured over to four officers making them immediately rush over to where Jungkook backed away and grab him by the arms.

Belle stood frozen as she watched her husband being dragged away out of the house. Letting out a drawling breath, the girl had to stop for a moment to ensure this wasn’t some kind of sick dream. Looking over her shoulder she saw Taehyung slowly walking towards her.

Immediately the older male engulfed his sister into a warm hug.

As if another dam broke down when Belle let out a series of sobs, a strange mixture of hurt and that little tingle of relief that she so longed for. It wasn’t fake anymore. Her sobs muffled a little into his shoulder. For a few seconds the woman could take a breath and quite happily cry her suppressed pain out without the pressure of smiling again.

She was hurt, broken and deeply damaged. But she survived. That was all that mattered in this moment of heartwarming vulnerability where a brother and sister could finally walk towards freedom.

-

A week almost flew by without Belle fully realizing her world changed overnight. The sun shone a bright golden high in the sky as she sat in one of the biggest law firms in the city where divorce papers were being filed and signed. Cool air brushed through her grey bodycon dress, the extra swell on her belly still poking out when she sat but it definitely dialed down significantly after all the check-ups and treatments.

Saito seemed to lose her smile for the past few days finding out the unfair game her biggest customer had been playing with none other than own protégé. A part of her felt guilt settle in her upset stomach letting all this happen under her nose without, even for a minute, checking if everything was okay.

Once Belle’s signature etched onto the paper, the papers were enveloped and made to be sent to the prison where Jungkook was held. Apparently the now convicted drug lord specifically asked to have a private cell as far away as possible from the city.

No pleas for bail. Nothing. Just quiet acceptance of the fate given to him.

Standing up from the chair after bidding farewell to the legal team, Saito guided Belle out of the office to the elevator.

With a pleasant ding, the doors slid open to reveal that the elevator was empty and the two women walked inside in silence.

-

As the doors closed and Belle felt a lift in her stomach as it descended down, she heard Saitos’ voice break the silence.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” Saito murmured not facing her but looking at the blurry reflection of her figure against the doors. “I should’ve known something was wrong from the beginning. Maybe—maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

Belle turned her head to face the older woman immediately shaking her head. “I’m the one who accepted the deal. And I’d do it again if I had to.” She spoke with any confidence mustered in the past few days.

All the daily interrogations really built a wall of confidence over her. Investigators really liked asking questions about the impregnation ritual and miscarriage on how it was not technically Jungkooks’ fault she said yes to him.

Even Namjoon, Yoongis partner, in all his ability to be patient, grew frustrated at the inappropriate and misogynistic questions thrown at her which really did not bring them closer to thickening Jungkooks’ case.

Both officers were struggling to find a decent number of years fit for Jungkooks’ sentence. That would only work if the investigators were not trying so hard to make Belle look like the real personification of Lady Macbeth, using her wit and beauty to ‘trick’ Jungkook in to committing the crimes he did.

Eventually that mindset was debunked considering how long Jungkook and his whole family had reigned over the city.

-

Out the elevator, Belles’ thoughts seemed to come to life when the two women were welcomed by two familiar officers at the lobby.

Namjoon and Yoongi stood waiting, with coffees in hand and badges flashing from their belts looking utterly out of place in an area infested by people wearing suits.

To her though, the familiar look brought a smile across her face.

“Can I say I’m out of the woods now?” Belle chuckled nervously looking at Namjoon and Yoongis’ expression twist into a mixture of a smile and some splashes of disappointment. “What was the verdict?”

The two men met each other’s gaze for a few moments before Yoongi took a breath to speak.

“Five years.” The answer lingered amongst the group with an eerie note.

Belle’s smile disappeared as she shifted where she stood, trying to immediately reassure herself with any comforting words that could be conjured. A lot of things could happen in five years. Which brought a sink in her belly wondering whether the life she makes at that time would be interrupted by a ghost of her past.

“You’ll be under court protection so he can’t come near you whether in prison or not.” Namjoon explained in the calm tone.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” She smiled sadly. The couple were ripped apart in the heat of swirling events that overwhelmed the both of them. Despite the brush of freedom Belle now felt, there was still the nagging feeling at the back of her mind that something needed to be said. Like a chapter unfinished or a song stopped smack damn in the middle.

“There’s no need to worry about something that long away now.” Saito patted the younger womans’ back. “I’m going to work. You are going to get a whole day off and try not to think about anything else but yourself.” A comforting smile spread across her lips.

Belles’ gaze flickered over to Yoongi, her heart jumping a little to see his eyes already fixated on her.

-

Walking out of the firm building, the heat was pleasant on her skin after the chill of the air conditioners for hours. Saito took her own car to drive her around because Belle started getting a bit too jumpy to drive for a while. The younger woman was not so sure why because she had already seen and heard so many things that no person should in their lifetime.

Saito walked to her car and climbed inside.

As Belle tried to follow her, Yoongi lightly touched her shoulder to bring attention back to him.

“There’s something I need to show you.” He murmured, his tone serious.

Belle looked over at the male, confusion gripping her features but she did not argue much further.

Giving a quick farewell to Saito, she opted to climb into the SUV the two officers drove in. Apparently police protection had to be done in the subtle way possible to prevent spies from getting way too observant on when they were coming to watch Belle.

Climbing into the vehicle, the AC once again bursting throughout as Namjoon already started the engine while Yoongi got into the car. They drove off almost immediately and kept a strange level of silence in the air. Not that Belle was in mood for any kind of conversation, it still brought a small tinge of discomfort.

-

Passing the building at a somewhat snail pace as the traffic thickened, Yoongi finally built up some kind of courage to structure the words in his mind. The piece of paper in his hands itching to be given to the woman. The letter that could have potentially determined Jungkooks’ fate that night. If anyone found out that the man handed this confidential document to someone so close to the criminal, he would lose his job almost instantly. But it had to be done. Despite all the things happened Belle deserved to know Jungkooks’ plan prior to his arrest.

“What did you want to show me?” Belle broke the silence out of pure lack of patience with the thickening quiet.

Yoongi let out a deep sigh glancing over at Namjoon who kept his focus on the road rather than any of them. Pushing himself to a jolt of courage, he held the folded piece of paper behind him gesturing it closer to her. “This.”

Brows furrowed, Belle gingerly accepted the paper and unfolded it revealing handwritten words that only went through half the page.

“It’s the last letter he wrote before getting arrested.” He stated. Somehow the exchange proved to be a thousand times easier when Yoongi could not actually face the woman. However the deafening silence very quickly grew unbearable.

Eyes scanned across the words carefully written with the extra ink spreads at the end of most of the letters. Little dots scattered after a sentence because he was probably thinking up the best way to say something. Then the words themselves. Jungkook planned to give everything up to raise their family. He chose to give up his riches, power and reputation for family.

It was a lie. It had to be, right?

Why would he lie to his parents however? There was no reason to dramatically announce giving up his empire for his wife and child for people who were not even in the country. His parents wouldn’t want him to give up the empire. Jungkook didn’t say what his parents probably wanted to hear. Nor was there any use to lie to them about how much he cared about his own growing family.

It couldn’t be the other thing.

That wasn’t real, remember?

Belle felt her eyes sting and burn forcing her to rip her gaze away from the letter. Staring out the window, the buildings began blurring into one another either from her teary vision or the speed of the car. “Did you find this before or after the arrest?” She asked in a mixture of a murmur and whisper.

Yoongi pursed his lips together. “Belle—”

“Before…or after?” She emphasized her words in a more firm tone.

The male glanced up at the ceiling feeling a light constraint in his chest. A part of him prepared for this very moment where he would tell Belle the truth about Jungkooks’ intentions. Maybe his need to abide by duty overpowered it. Or maybe it was something a little more selfish than just his job. “Before. I found it before the show.”

Belle let out a shaky sigh, body deflating into the leather seat as she hugged the paper to her chest. “Why—why did you keep it from me?” Her voice cracked a little.

“What would you have done if I had told you?” Yoongis’ stomach may have dropped the slightest thinking of a very different turnout if Jungkook actually went through with his plan.

“You still shouldn’t have hid it from me.” Her heart began pounding and racing so hard, they could almost crack through her ribcages at this point. Did she do the wrong thing helping Jungkook get arrested? “He was—” Belle tried to let out a deep breath but it all collected in her throat preventing any of her nerves to calm down. They only grew more frazzled, tightening and numbing any ability to hear things clearly. “He was going to stop.”

“People like that don’t just stop.” Yoongi replied simply. “Give him three years of keeping his promise and he’s going to be back at it again.”

“That still didn’t give you the right to go behind my back like that!” Chest rose and fell as the woman struggled to gain a normal pattern of breathing. Her body burned like a volcano erupted from her belly, shooting uncomfortably through each vein.

“I was undercover, that was my job.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“I was helping you! The whole time I thought—” At this point all Belle could do was heave as all the heat rushed through her head, tears melting down her cheeks and dripping onto her chest.

“He—”

“Yoongi!” Namjoon finally spoke up glancing over at the older male before indicating to the left. “She’s getting anxious, stop it.”

Yoongi had no stubbornness to fight any further anyway except now he wished there was anger to at least numb down that twisting feeling in his stomach. He could hear the way the girl heaved to get a deep breath out while the car slowed down gradually coming to the side emergency lane.

Namjoon puts the car to a complete stop and Belle immediately climbs out before Yoongi could mentally prepare himself for it.

The fresh breeze of air felt new as if Belle had not been breathing it a few minutes ago. Her body cooled down although it merely touched the surface; heart still beat far too fast to really think in a proper pattern. Everything felt like a kaleidoscope of emotions. Reddening from anger, then blue splotches of deep rooted sadness, deep maroon when she found the space next to her bed empty and her own apartment looked foreign all the while accompanied with a vibrant yellow to reassure her everything was going to be okay. The best and worst feeling that brought confusion to her vulnerable, healing body.

These momentary crashes of panic were happening a lot more often than she liked to admit. Belle remembered the first time was two nights after the arrest. Her whole night completely spent with Taehyung trying to help her regulate her breathing until at an ungodly hour of four in the morning, they managed to get some shut eye. Although not enough to keep them alert the next day.

Being in the car usually caused the worst of it and it didn’t help with the letter now swirling in her mind. It was so much more easy to think that Jungkook was a horrible, tyrannous drug lord who didn’t care for anyone but himself and his empire. To think that he had other priorities in mind while Belle helped his enemy brought an unwelcome twinge of guilt.

After a few moments’ of leaving the woman alone to her space, Yoongi climbed out of the car into the cool air. Sighing, he spoke up to break the silence. “Belle I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“I would’ve stayed with him.” Belle answered hugging herself as tightly as she could before nodding briefly. “If you told me about the letter, I would’ve protected him.” Her features twisted, not a face of pride for a loved one but one of submission and desperation. “At first it was because I was pregnant, I couldn’t raise the baby on my own, I knew that, I knew that my baby deserved a good family away from the world he was in. So if Jungkook ever told me he was going to give the whole life up…I would’ve gone with him.” A long drawling breath passed through her lips as the words seemed to loosen a few knots in her body.

For a minute she tried to searching deep into her mind wondering if the words coming out of her mouth were true. But there was nothing. “Why didn’t the police ask me about this?” Belle held up the paper not really knowing she was still holding.

“I am the police.” Yoongi shrugged. “I just didn’t give it to them. They had enough evidence to ensure Jungkook was the culprit for all the drug dens. The assassination on the mayor was more information for the mayor only.” He dug his hands into his pockets. “About you going with him…” He let out a brief sigh. “Is it just for the baby?”

Tears dried up from the wind, her face feeling a little tight. She shook her head. A part of Belle still grew so used to pretending like she had to sugarcoat things or make it sound like she was in control. However once you allow something to feel broken, it’ll feel like falling and falling into an endless abyss until all you can do is get back up again. “No…it wasn’t just for the baby.” Belle’s bottom lip quivered. “I didn’t want to…I really didn’t want to—” She closed her eyes before hanging her head. “But I do.” Shaky hands held onto the letter again.

Yoongi could almost feel a dark cloud over them. Belle should have been moving towards a path of healing, not wondering what it would been like all her life. Granted there was no way to know whether she was going to continue helping him after reading the letter but it still didn’t give him any right to keep this truth away from her. The last thing she needed was getting played into another lie.

Belle took another deep breath as her body now slowly calmed itself down. “It’s okay though, right? You did it to protect me and other people.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “There’s no reason to cry about it now.”

“Belle…” He murmured taking a small step closer.

“It’s okay, Yoongi.” Reddened eyes met his gaze. “Just take me home please.” Belle padded past the male and climbed back into the car leaving Yoongi with a question of whether he just helped the woman or rushed through a mission just so he could get what he wanted.

-

The drive back to her apartment reverted back to its original silence. Belle placed the letter into her purse despite a few sensible sides of her advising she get rid of it. It would only hurt more to keep it and wonder but her body seemed to grow weak whenever the thought crossed her mind.

Namjoon parked in front of the apartment building and Belle gave the two officers a quick ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’ before climbing out of the car.

Up the elevator and through the hallways, Belle felt a rush of relief coming back to her home again. At least she tried to call it her home now. It almost felt like coming into a hotel or just a really strong déjà vu as the old memories of her time here seemed so long ago.

Walking through the entrance, Belle tossed her purse on the kitchen island, leaning against the edge of the counter, fingers ran through her hair only to get a little caught in the middle. Pulling them out, she merely pushed the strands back and grabbed scrunchie from her purse to tie it back up into a loose ponytail. “Tae?” She called out softly.

The apartment was fairly silent at least until she heard ruffling on the spare room. Belle had moved most of her designs from the room to her own while some of her steel stands scattered around the living room.

Eventually the door opened with a half-naked Taehyung padded out of the room, ruffling his hair as his lips pouted out, eyes squinting into the light. “Hey…how’d the signing go?”

Belle shrugged, rummaged through her purse and seeing the piece of paper just sitting there. “I guess the same as any other divorce.”

“If you marry a mob boss, sure.” Taehyung stopped near the edge of the counter.

“What were you doing today?”

Taehyung rubbed his face trying to hide the wide smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Despite the exhaustion across his expression, there was still this aura of joy. It was not hard to guess who may have caused that smile. Seokjin had created full freedom for Taehyung to visit Angel without any rules involved but for her protection against her ex-husband, she had to publicly stay married to him. That is until some solid legal actions were made to properly keep Angel protected so they could think of something more serious with their new blooming relationship. “Little this, little that.” The struggle to keep his smile failed terribly as the biggest damn grin graced his features.

Belles’ heart swelled, a more comforting warmth spreading across her body compared to the one she felt during the drive. For a moment she could remind herself that things were actually more okay now. Taehyung looked so much happier and she even saw him sketching the other day. Things were looking to be normal again. Except for the secret in her purse. Gulping down, she pulled the paper out. “Tae…” Eyes stared down at the folded paper before placing it on the table.

The older males’ smile faded away into one of curiosity when he saw the paper in her hands. “What is it?”

“Yoongi gave me this…” She murmured, fingers caressing over the surface. Much to her slight shame Belle could imagine caressing Jungkooks’ cheek. How warm he felt and he would almost always lean into her touch naturally. The thought made her abruptly stop the action, gulping those feelings down. “It’s a letter…from Jungkook.” Belle took a deep breath. “It says that he was going to give everything up for me…” Her stomach twisted. “For the me and the—the baby.”

It didn’t take a genius to feel the heat of anger already radiating from her older brother as he tightened his jaw. “He’s just lying.” Taehyungs’ voice grew dark, making it even more raspier than it already was.

“It was a letter to his parents.” Sharing the same thought as the other male would have been comforting but Belle knew better than to lie to herself just for the sake of making things easier to bear.

“Doesn’t matter. He’d never do that, he loves his power too much.” Taehyung shook his head.

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t care about his family.” Belle glanced down at the letter.

“There isn’t any family now.” He corrected. “You’re divorced, he’s not your responsibility and the kid—” Taehyung immediately pursed his lips to calm his frustrations down before he said anything he was going to regret.

Belle stayed silent staring down at her dress, lump growing in her throat. With the whirlwind of things that had been happening in such a short time, the miscarriage seemed a distant memory. At least until she was reminded of how fresh the wound still was. “I know all that.” She murmured.

Taehyung immediately padded closer to the younger standing next to her. His arm moved over her back, rubbing up and down her arm while his forehead pressed against her temple. “I’m sorry…” He whispered. “I know everything hurts right now but it’ll be okay.” He tilted his head to try and search her expression. “You gave up so much to take care of me. Let me take care of you.” Long fingers brushed back a few strands of her hair behind her ear.

Chest fell and pushed out with a small sob passing Belle’s lips, the heat from Taehyungs’ body in such close proximity providing her comfort. “Okay.” She whispered. Turning her body around with a light sniffle, she buried her face into his bare chest, arms hooking back and hands gripping at his shoulders.

How freeing it was to be able to curl up into Taehyung’s arms whenever her mind decided to play tricks on her. Belle knew she was strong, so many people including the reporters on the news continuously tried to tell her. But it never reassured her. Strength was what got her into this mess. For once, Belle truly felt happy knowing she was strong but could still rely on the people she loved when her strength wasn’t enough.

-

Tonight had exactly been that night where Belle’s mind opted not to give her a break. Hazy visions of running around the dark Jeon mansion, not even the guards were present. Then it faded to the house she grew up in with her parents celebrating Taehyungs’ birthday party while she peeked out from her bedroom to watch it.

Then her bedroom now in this current apartment. She forcefully looked to her side and saw a familiar sleeping figure, blurry phoenix tattoo on his chest. His large hand came over to rest of her belly but now she wore a white dress. As he raised his hand up, blood spread from one point all across until the color changed.

Pain jolted in her head when she heard a gunshot.

Belle’s eyes opened.

Everything stilled, light ringing in her ears like she just walked out of a club. Sweat layered in on her skin as if she was really running before passing out on her bed. The ringing got louder. Belle realized it was not coming from her ears but from somewhere in her bedroom.

Exhaustion still pulling at her form, she pushed herself up from the bed to look at her nightstand. Her phone lighting up the entire room as it vibrated against the wood and sounded a ring. A familiar name on the screen: Yoongi.

Brows furrowed, Belle turned on a lamp since going back to sleep again after a dream like that was not likely. She pressed the green button and put the device to her ear. “Yoongi? What’s wrong?” For a moment it felt strange hearing her own voice, still raspy from her slumber.

“Sorry I know it’s late.” Yoongi murmured through the phone.

“It’s alright, I’m up anyway.” Belle scratched the back of her neck lightly, eyes still closing but her mind still too frazzled to let her be pulled back in again. “What is it?”

“Could you—could you come outside? Bring your stuff with you.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, it’s important. I can’t do it during the day so—” Yoongi cleared his throat.

Belle pouted looking at the clock for a moment to see that it was two in the morning. “I’ll be down in five minutes.” She replied quickly before completely getting off her bed and walking to her closet. Leaving her deep blue pajama set on, she merely draped a big coat over her body. Messy hair tied up in a somewhat decent bun as the girl stared in the mirror with a subtle pink tint on her lips to make her look less exhausted. Though the puffiness under her eyes spoke the truth.

Tiptoeing out of her bedroom, she glanced around before seeing the door to Taehyung’s bedroom closed. A part of Belle wanted to let him know that she was going somewhere but at this point, the older male wouldn’t really wake up so it didn’t seem necessary.

So giving one more look over her shoulder the woman placed on some shoes and walked out of the apartment as quietly as she could.

-

The crisp night air was both refreshing and unwelcoming as the moon still smiled onto the world from where Belle was looking. Across the path from the building to the curb where Yoongihad his van parked, she noticed the dew on the grass glimmering under the silver light while the trees whistled in the wind.

Eventually Belles’ gaze fully set on the van where Yoongi had his lights on to ensure she could confirm it was him and not someone trying to lure her. There had been a lot of looming danger for Jungkooks’ enemies to try and put the woman in danger despite their end in marriage. Which was also why the police protection was put in place rather than just keeping her safe from her ex-husband.

Walking to the passenger seat, she opened the door and climbed in without a word spoken until her seatbelt was fully fastened.

“Where’re you taking me?” Belle asked in a calm tone though the lack of information made her heart beat a little too fast for comfort.

“Somewhere I’m not allowed to.” Yoongi answered simply, turning on the engine and letting it purr for a moment before driving off into the street.

Silence took over the cool air of the vehicle adding more fuel to the confusion filling Belle. The streets slowly faded into main roads and then it turned to a highway. She pulled her knees into her chest, looking out the window wondering whether to ask again or just figure it out when the car stopped.

But then Yoongi spoke up for her. “You deserve closure.” His eyes were completely focused on the road, finding it easy to explain himself when he wasn’t meeting her gaze. “We got our jail sentence for Jungkook.” He shrugged. “That was all we wanted. To break his empire down in a status that was manageable. But you—” He glanced for a second after gaining some courage but looked at the road. “Your relationship with Jungkook is more personal than anyone else who wanted him down.” Yoongi took a sharp right turn.

“Aren’t you going to get into trouble?”

“Not if you can keep a secret.” He smirked.

Belle couldn’t help but smile a little. Although now there was a light sink in her belly having to prepare for a meeting she never thought she would have. Police and even her lawyer reassured that she would never see the male again but somehow it didn’t reassure her as much as seeing him on more time did.

-

The car drove into a dark yard, the building towering over the car park with some bright white lights shining inside the cement fences. Yoongi drove towards the metal date, letting the guard at the booth know who he was. A piercing clang echoed through the air as the gate slid open, creaking terribly in its journey.

Slowly inching into the car park, the male drove closest to the building before turning the engine off.

Belle climbed out of the car and stepped towards the entrance. Footsteps crunched against the gravel until the older male stood next to her.

Through the entrance, the two were already welcomed in by the guards. However welcomed was a strong word for blank expressions and monotonous voices. Yoongi was told to stay outside while Belle walked in because only one person was allowed to visit at a time.

-

Past the dank looking halls, Belle walked under the greenish light, all the while hearing howling and moaning from the other side. Indistinctive words but it wasn’t hard to tell they were all expressing misery. Her mind now filled with the vision of that wide sweet smile and warm gaze stuffed into this crowd.

The guard opened a door for her revealing a room with a line of seats. A glass division in front of it. It was mostly empty aside from an elderly woman sobbing while talking to a younger prisoner on the other side.

Belle was gestured to sit in one of the center booths. Hugging her bag to her chest, she did as she was told. Eyes flickered over to the guard on the other side keeping a close on the younger prisoner at the other side. A metal door closed next to him. In the slight silence the girl attempted to take a deep breath and organize what she could say.

Then the metal door clanged open making her jump back a little.

A figure wearing bright orange padded in and sat on the center, eyes not meeting hers yet. He slouched down on the chair, hair mostly tied up except for large piece handing over the side of his face.

When his gaze flickered up, his expression softened and his posture straightened. Jungkook stammered glancing around the room before looking back at Belle almost convinced that this could be a dream. “I thought you weren’t allowed to be here.”

“Do you want me to go?” Belle gripped at her purse tightly, heart pounding against her ribcages at the anticipation of his answer.

“No.” Jungkook pursed his lips together.

Silence plunged between them. Whether it was comfortable or disconcerting was up for debate.

Belle leaned in a little resting her elbows on the little table before her, eyes momentarily glancing down at the little holes made to be one of their ways of clear communication. “I saw the letter.”

It didn’t take Jungkook far too long for his face to soften into one of recognition.

“Were you lying?”

“Would it make you feel better if I said I was?”

Belle let out a shaky sigh, another small lump growing her throat but she swallowed it down. “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I want the truth.”

Jungkook shifted in his position causing the handcuffs around his wrists to clink. “That day I yelled at you…” He stayed silent for a few seconds to take a deep breath. “I realized my priorities were muddled and I needed to figure out what was more important.” Adams apple bobbed up and down as his glossy eyes met hers now. “What I loved the most.”

Lips quivered as the lump only grew in her throat until she had to hang her head. “I didn’t know.” Belle whispered, breathing shakily. “I thought—I thought you didn’t care about us and then I saw Yoongi and—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He answered simply. “Yoongi was going to expose me with how close he was anyway. The new mayor was at my tail, it was bound to—”

“It’s not about the mission.” Belle closed her eyes and emphasized her words, fingers trembling a little. “I hated your job. I hated everything about it but I didn’t hate you.” She sucked in her bottom lip. “When I read that letter that you were going to give everything up for me, I felt—I—”

Jungkook searched the beauty’s expression, leaning in a bit more to maybe catch some warmth from her body or her scent. “What did you feel?” His voice came out in a whisper.

“I felt like I just—gave up something. Something that might’ve made me happy.” Belles’ eyes flooded with tears making her irises blurry before a single drop escaped down her cheek. “I kept thinking about how different it could’ve been if you weren’t who you were. Maybe if you were just… Jungkook and none of this happened. Maybe we’d be happy together.” She chuckled sadly before briefly covering her mouth.

“Would I have made you happy?” He sniffled lightly. “Even after all I did?”

His question floated in the air freely for a few moments as Belle wiped away the escaped tears staining her skin. “Maybe…” She shifted closer. Eyes flickered down at the holes again. Shaky fingers slyly hooked onto two of them not looking back at Jungkooks’ gaze rather looking at down her digits and sighed. “But I can’t…do this all over again on a ‘maybe’.”

Jungkook almost had his forehead pressing against the glass just to feel her close again. Instead the woman initiated the second best thing by putting her fingers through the opening of the glass division. His own rough fingers reached in to caress her soft skin before hooking them on top of hers.

Belle couldn’t help but feel a jolt in her belly feeling his familiar fingers on her again. It was a subtle action but it brought so many long slumbered feelings through her body. They both know this electric magnet between them was a ruse to hide the real truth. What they needed to say but could never admit in real life.

Until now.

“Do you feel happier now?” Jungkook asked, breaking the warm silence.

The real truth. The reason why Belle wanted to come here. Was it a real feeling of longing? Or just a strong attractions towards the comforts she created in the fantasy of her past? No matter how heartbreaking. It was a moment of weakness where the woman could only remember giggling under the sheets with Jungkooks’ warm hands all over her body, eating ice-cream late at night or giving each other reassuring words.

It was at this moment, Belle needed to remember that was only part of the story. Part of the beautiful fantasy they built together but now the show needed to end before anyone else got hurt.

Belle now spoke out the truth.

“I do.” She nodded, smiling through her light tears. “I do feel happier.”

Jungkook couldn’t control a wide smile of his own stretching across his lips hearing those words. “That’s good.” He let out a faint chuckle. “That’s all that should matter to you now, okay?”

Belle hummed lightly in agreement. “I hope you feel happier soon too. Once you’re out of here.”

He nodded finally succumbing to pressing his head gently against the glass, breath fogged up the surface as he spoke. “I’ll try.”

That was all they both needed to hear.

The curtains had been lifted and the fantasy dissipated. All that could be seen now was two broken individuals in their rawest form, making their slow but healthy path to a happier life. One they could finally choose for themselves.

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[raisinchallah]

im so obsessed with the way people who talk a lot about over diagnosis in the mental health field and hand wring about like epidemics of depression or adhd or truly any diagnosis under the sun like seems to assume people getting said diagnoses are as they love to say "normal people" and not peope who are suffering experiencing pain or in some way deeply at odds with society's expectations of them and that is something they will experience whether those feelings are diagnosed and medicalized or not and like while i am also extremely dubious of the entire psychiatric and therapeutic systems we have in place now and like they honestly dont really seem to uh be the most effective treatment for honestly most people and have done a shockingly bad job of minimizing a lot of peoples pain to outright harming far more people for how universally theyre touted as solutions we should all be funneled into but god all the terror of dragging the poor normal people into this and hopelessly medicalizing things still says nothing about how they want to help people outside of the mental illness model they think shouldnt be applied to them like honestly i am probably the person theyre talking about when it comes to like over expanding the adhd diagnostic criteria like every test ive been given places me in kinda a diagnostic grey area and yet.... i dropped out of high school i do not have the basic skills to function and the fact is that the only ways to recieve academic help is if u walk in with an official diagnosis of something lol like where does this leave people idk man nothing but contempt for people who write long fucking books and get fancy articles in big newspapers and magazines and complain about over diagnosis while not suggesting that say... schools should not be so actively hostile to the people they are claiming to educate and that maybe our society is generating a huge amount of pain and suffering and that is a bad thing no matter what labels you use

[megalony]

So many reasons- Part 11

Another part to my latest Roger Taylor series, thank you to everyone for the lovely feedback and comments it means a lot.

Thank you to @butlegendsneverdie for giving me the idea for this chapter and for your comments and encouragement with this story. x

Permanent taglist: @marshmallowmae  @langdonzvoid  @butlegendsneverdie  @jennyggggrrr  @luvborhap  @radiob-l-a-hblah  @rogertaylorsbitontheside  @chlobo6

Series taglist: @scarecrowmax  @caborhapch  @demo-wise  @asquiresofftime  @rogertaylors-lipgloss

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) didn't know what else she could do.

There were only so many excuses she could give to Lily before the questions she started asking were ones that (Y/n) couldn't bypass anymore or respond to without lying. There was nothing in the world that she could tell Rosie that the three-year-old would understand.

Lily had been told that Roger had gotten worse and was in the hospital because he was sick and she understood that. She didn't know what was wrong with Roger except he had a bad chest so the more she kept asking the fewer answers there was for (Y/n) to give. It was beginning to worry the six-year-old that Roger hadn't come home yet and that she hadn't been allowed to see him since he was too ill.

In Rosie's little head, Roger was not here and she didn't know where he had gone. Telling her Roger was ill only worked when he was actually there so the toddler could cuddle up next to him and try and help by giving him hugs like he did her when she was ill. Telling her he was away because he wasn't well didn't work because she didn't understand. All she knew was Roger hadn't been home in almost five days and each day she would toddle around the house, looking in every room to see where her dad had gone.

It broke (Y/n)'s heart to find Rosie wandering around the house with tears in her eyes as she cried out for Roger but couldn't seem to find him. The worst was when the little girl sat in (Y/n) and Roger's bedroom looking around as she refused to leave. Somehow thinking Roger was hiding somewhere in the room and would come out at any moment to surprise her.

Seeing her like this made stones fall into the pit of (Y/n)'s stomach because if Rosie was this distressed when Roger was alive but in the hospital, what would have happened if he had died on that operating table?

What would (Y/n) have done if Roger had died like he was so afraid he would? Rosie was far too young to understand the concept of death, (Y/n) would walk around the house to find the little girl calling out for Roger every day whilst everyone else knew he was never going to walk through the door again. Rosie would be calling out for Roger every day and he wouldn't be able to come back and see her and soothe her little worried mind. The thought sent shivers up her spine as she silently prayed for Roger's recovery to be a good one. For him not to need any more treatment or for any future treatment to do its job once and for all. The drummer couldn't die, he needed to be here for his girls because his girls needed him.

Today had been the last straw.

"Shoes and coat on now, please. We're going out." (Y/n) stated, motioning her hand to the hallway where coats and jackets were hung up and shoes were neatly placed in the shoebox. Her eyes told Lily to just go along with her on this as she cradled a wailing Rosie to her shoulder. The three-year-old still not able to find Roger, she seemed to think he was playing a very hard game of hide and seek with her.

Going to the hall, (Y/n) slipped on her flats before sitting down on the stairs so she could put Rosie's dusty rose shoes on her feet and settle her matching jacket around her frame to keep out the biting cold. Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip so harshly she drew blood when she managed to put her jacket on only for Rosie to cry out at seeing Roger's many jackets and coats still hung up on his designated hooks. Her small grabby hands reaching out for one of her favourites which happened to be a dark green pullover jacket that Roger had a tendency to wear more than the rest.

Reaching out (Y/n) slipped the jacket from the hook, passing it to the toddler who clung to it like glue. Her wails turning to whimpers as she buried her face in the jacket, leaning the side of her head against (Y/n)'s shoulder as she grabbed her house and car keys.

"Mummy, where are we going?" 

If the circumstances were any different, (Y/n) would have noticed how her heart picked up a little pace in its usually steady pace at the title Lily was beginning to call her now. But (Y/n) couldn't focus on that right now, she was trying to decide if what she was going to do would really be a good option for them.

"To see daddy." Lily was getting restless and worried with Roger not being at home, she was used to him going on tours quite often and working through the days until all hours but he was always at home at some point during the day. Whether it be in the dead of night or as early as the sun rising, Roger was home unless on tour and he would always be somewhere for the girls to find him. Now he wasn't it was concerning because Lily couldn't ring him like she normally could when he was on tour.

Rosie of course was distressed, not finding him anywhere after seeing him in the morning five days ago and then nothing. Roger hadn't been on tour for a while and in that time Rosie had grown up a little when on tour she didn't really understand or sometimes it didn't click that Roger had gone. Now she knew he wasn't here but she could find all of his things in the hallway, in the living room and all of his clothes were still in his room. So she obviously thought he was home somewhere but couldn't find him.

(Y/n) wondered if she could show Rosie a glimpse of Roger she would be satisfied that he was there because she didn't want to take the toddler into Roger's room at the moment. Lily was a little older, she could understand more that Roger was ill and (Y/n) thought she might be able to handle seeing Roger like he was. The drummer had IV and medication drips hooked into the veins in his hands and arms, he had monitoring stickers to his chest to check his vitals and a clip on his finger for his heartbeat. But the more concerning thing was the very pale baby blue tube going down his throat to keep his lungs in working order since they were taking a break right now.

Rosie wouldn't be able to understand that and it could distress her but Lily might just be able to handle that, if she couldn't then they would all leave. At least if they got a glimpse of Roger they would know he was being cared for and was alright for now.

The drive down to the hospital seemed to do some good for Rosie as she had settled down immensely. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Roger's jacket, clearly not letting that go anywhere at all. She had pulled the collar of the jacket between her lips as she breathed in Roger's scent, drooling on the jacket that she wouldn't let go of when (Y/n) picked her up as they arrived. No more tears were leaving her sore eyes as she seemed to be rather tired, her arm hooking around (Y/n)'s neck as they started walking into the hospital. Lily's hand tightly holding onto (Y/n)'s as she pressed herself to her mother's leg, her eyes wide as she was guided through the hospital to reach Roger's room.

(Y/n) stopped a few feet from Roger's room so she could bend down to be Lily's height, needing to talk to her before they went inside.

"Alright sweetheart, your dad won't be awake. He's on medicine that makes him sleep so he can get better but he will be able to hear you if you want to talk to him. The wires may look scary but I promise it's only to help him." Lily nodded, her lips curving into a very small, barely noticeable smile when (Y/n) kissed her forehead before standing to her feet again.

Her hand reached out to take Lily's, her other arm bouncing Rosie in her hip who had taken to stroking Roger's jacket like it was a pet. Lily wrapped an arm around (Y/n)'s leg when she let go of her hand to push open the door. Her heart beating out of her chest as she pressed her hand to Lily's back, encouraging her to walk into the room. (Y/n) thought Lily would have hung back, observed Roger from a distance for a little while to see what was wrong and what was attached to him. Instead, the blonde simply walked straight up to Roger's side, glancing to her mother before hopping up so she could sit on the side of the bed with him.

"Mummy...?" There was worry in Lily's voice as she pointed to Roger's hand, desperate to reach out and hug him but that looked to be too difficult so she wanted to hold his hand instead. Roger still wasn't wearing a shirt, but there was a rather large plaster placed over his chest with bandages wrapping around it. It was easier not to place a gown over him or a shirt because this way the nurses could clean his stitches and apply new dressings easier since he was comatose for the time being. There were a few wires connecting to his chest that slithered under the bandages.

An IV drip was connected to the vein on his left hand and another drip going into the vein on his right arm in the crease of his elbow for the medication that took away any form of pain he would feel from the operation. The tube keeping his lungs working was the more disturbing part but it didn't seem to be fazing Lily as much as (Y/n) thought it would.

"Go ahead." (Y/n) responded quietly, fighting back the tears in her eyes when Lily gently took Roger's hand in both of hers, avoiding the dull grey clip on his index finger monitoring his pulse. Lily slipped her fingers into the alinements between his own like he always did when she wasn't feeling well. Taking a seat on the chair beside the bed, (Y/n) sat Rosie on her lap, gently rocking the little girl to keep her calm as she turned her head away so Lily could talk to Roger. Not wanting to watch or listen if Lily didn't want her to, preferring to have a moment on her own with him.

After a few minutes, Lily stopped talking, instead opting to lay down in the small space beside him. Her head resting just below his shoulder as she held his arm to her chest.

"Who's this, Rosie?" (Y/n) mumbled, standing to her feet so she could move closer to Roger. Holding the three-year-old in one arm as she gestured to Roger with her other hand, gently brushing his hair back behind his ear as Rosie suddenly reached out for Roger, jacket still in hand.

"Daddy!"

Seeing her sister reaching out for him Lily pushed herself so she was sitting back up against his torso again, gesturing for Rosie to sit in front of her since there wasn't that much space on the bed. (Y/n) carefully set the toddler down in front of her sister who wrapped an arm around her middle to stop her from trying to clamber onto Roger's chest for a cuddle like she usually did.

Leaning over, Rosie gently patted Roger's shoulder as if to try and wake him up. Stopping when (Y/n) shook her head, pressing her index finger to her lips to signal that Roger was sleeping. Rosie nodded before moving the jacket in her hands, clumsily splaying it over Roger's chest and shoulders. Allowing (Y/n) to pull it over his other shoulder she couldn't reach due to the breathing tube being in the way. Rosie gently patted the jacket to either smooth out the wrinkles or just for good measure before she curled up on Roger's shoulder, continuing to pat just below his collar bone right next to his shoulder.

When it seemed about time for them to go, Rosie was fast asleep which made it that much easier for (Y/n) to scoop her up without any objections about not wanting to leave Roger just yet.

"Ready?" (Y/n) whispered, looking to Lily who gingerly held out her index finger asking for one minute with Roger alone. Smiling when (Y/n) nodded, running a hand through the elder girls hair before disappearing with Rosie to wait outside.

"I'll look after mummy for you until you come back home."

[mattness]

Space Dementia

Here we go again, my friends ^^  OTP: Jenniwise   And another chapter of my fanfic! Hope you enjoy IT! :D  //// Chapter IV. "Are you sure that I can get to the airport in Bangor on this wreck?" questioned Jennifer, standing in the garage near the old Audi, which occasionally went grandmother. The car didn't start for the last three years because Christine didn't see the need to go anywhere far. Now the car was covered with a layer of dust and quietly waiting in the wings, and Jennifer very much doubted that it would start at all. She ran her hand over the silver bonnet, noticing the rust on the wing. 

"I already started the engine", smiled Chester, throwing the keys with her daughter, and she somehow managed to catch them. "It remains to pour gasoline, and you can safely get to Bangor." "Somehow I very much doubt it, dad", chuckled the girl and sat down behind the wheel. In the salon it smelled terrible rubber mixed with gasoline. Jennifer wrinkled her nose, placing her hands on the steering wheel and looking through the dusty windshield. She immediately adjusted the rear-view mirror to make herself comfortable. The rear window had to be wiped as well as the front, otherwise the road will not be visible. The girl put the key in the ignition and turned it. As expected, the first time the car engine didn't even think to start. It just rattled piteously, and Jen had to re-turn the key. On this time the motor earned, loudly growling on the whole garage. The brunette smiled, and Chester standing in the garage near the car, a fairly clapped her hands. "Why don't you take it for a couple of blocks?" the father offered, having approached the car from a driver's seat. "You said there was no gasoline", Jennifer recalled and turned off the engine. "In the canister just for road in Bangor. Maybe we shouldn't waste it?" "As you wish", he shrugged. The girl got out of the car and smiled at Chester. He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and flipped his daughter on nose. "You're so happy to be back in the big city. I thought we'd spend more time together here in Derry. Still, the repair is not finished yet." "I'm leaving only for an internship. You will not notice how the week will fly", assured Jen, hugging dad. "It isn't a fact that they will be taken me there. I'm not ready to write articles about girls’s problems all the time." He laughed, patting his daughter on the back, and looked into her eyes. "Don't doubt yourself and your powers, Jen." "I have no doubt. I'm just sane estimate about my chances." Chester was again pulled her to him and sighed. He still could not accept the fact that his little Jennifer was no longer such. And it was that horrible day when she is forced to leave home to begin an independent life. He knew that sooner or later this day would come, so now it was only necessary to accept. He will be crazy miss her and ask her to come to Derry often. "I'll miss you, Jenni", voiced his own thoughts Chester, tightly clutching her in his arms. "Me too, daddy. But I'll be calling, and I'll be back soon. You'll see", smiled sadly Jennifer and stepped back. "Okay, okay. No more veal tenderness! Let's clean this old lady up." The girl found among a heap of garage trash bucket with a sponge and immediately ran to fill it with water. It turned out that under a layer of dust was hiding a beautiful silver-white paint, and a little later, in the sun, Audi already glistened with purity. Jennifer smiled at her own reflection in the windshield, wiping it with a sponge while his father was at that time a hose was watering the trunk and the roof of the car. She even thought about what this piece of junk now after the water treatment, looked quite passable. On such a machine is not ashamed to appear in Bangor. From her own thoughts Jen snorted. * * *  That evening she packed all the necessary things for the first time in a compact suitcase. MacBook fit in the bag, which was a cosmetic bag and other important things. Then she gathered herself: wearing blue jeans with a black t-shirt, and over it threw a warm red bumper. Quite nodding to her reflection, Jennifer looked out the window. Weather by the evening spoiled, that doesn't surprise Wright. The clouds in the sky were gathering and a strong wind was blowing. Seems, the storm coming, thought she. But even this storm will not prevent her from leaving Derry for an internship to New York. Money for a high-speed train, a ticket which cost three times more expensive than the plane, wasn't at all. So Jen decided to save money and get to Bangor, and there from the airport to fly to New York. The flight will take about the same time as a high-speed train ride. "Are you sure you want to go now?" asked father, as Jennifer has already sat in the car and drove it out of the garage. "Maybe you should wait out the storm?" "It'll be fine, dad", Wright waved, smiling at him. "Here to go something quite nothing." "All right", he sighed, and leaned over to his daughter, who sat behind the wheel, to kiss her cheek goodbye. "Good luck. Call me when you get to the airport.” She nodded and closed the window, gently pressing the gas pedal. The car slowly drove to the roadway and drive away from Derry, yellow headlights illuminating the way. The city was rushing through the window. There were lights everywhere and no one in the streets. Began to drizzle rain, so Jen included "janitors". A pleasant feeling of euphoria did not leave her. The mood was great in such nasty slush. The brunette felt that she was about to start her independent life away from her parents and some stupid obligations. If she initially didn't want to leave father alone in Derry, after a month realized that there is nothing wrong. Jennifer saw how happy he was here. He liked his work and quiet lifestyle. She even didn't interfere in his routine, afraid to break this silence. And now, when the girl left home, he probably will come off in full. He will call his local friends to visit and maybe then be able to find love after a long ten years. Jen really wanted this. Rain gradually intensified, and outside the window began to hear thunder. "Janitors" almost could not cope with the amount of water that continuously flooded the windshield. Jen cursed under his breath, trying to focus on the road. The suburbs of Derry has ended and the car drives on the broad highway along which, every ten meters stood a tall poles with lights and covered the road. But even that didn't help much. Already began a real downpour, and in the sky and then periodically flashed lightning. Jennifer continued to swear under his breath, thinking about what a hell it's like something was trying to keep her in Derry. As if bad weather forced to return back. But to return back already was too far. To Bangor had another half hour of the journey, and machine, to the surprise of the hostess, still driving on the highway without any interruption. It worked almost like new. However, Jen occasionally heard some rattling from under the hood, but it's not enough, for disturbing. Probably some kind of old piece is trying to fall off, but the car was still on the go. Wright quietly concluded that hammering stuff under the hood isn't so important for the operation of the motor. Again rose a strong wind and into the oncoming lane wide highway suddenly a tree fell, breaking a few wires and blocking the path of cars. Several lights immediately went out. A real hurricane started, why Jennifer was seriously scared. She grabbed the phone, which was lying on the passenger seat, and with GPS began to look for the nearest motel or hotel to wait out the storm. The brunette sighed with relief, knowing that the nearest town was quite a bit. Orono was literally one mile off the highway. On the map she immediately found a good hotel, which is located in the center of the village. Throwing the phone to the side, Jennifer turned the steering wheel to the right, and the car turned off the highway. The clock ticked loudly and a unpleasant along with a running "janitors" was terribly annoying her. For an hour drive the mood was spoiled, and the weather outside continued to rage. The machine arrived in Orono and rushed to the three star hotel, which girl planned to wait out the hurricane. However, inside something suggested that she would have to stay in the hotel for the night, because such a storm is unlikely to end in a couple of hours. On top of that, the tank ran out of gas, and the knock in the hood intensified of the car. Coupled with the "wipers" and the hours, too, began to irritate Jennifer. She exhaled with relief, noticing the right sign. Finally, you can take a breath and freshen up, thought the brunette. The car drove into the hotel territory stopping at the entrance. To the surprise of Jen, to the car ran over the doorman with an umbrella and kindly opened the car door for her, holding out his hand. The girl used the help and, having grabbed a bag, together with the man ran in a spacious warm hotel. Even having been on the street just couple of minutes, Wright managed get wet. "Did you reserve a room, miss?"- asked the doorman, removing the umbrella. "No, I would only..." she began her long story, but was interrupted. "We have affordable rooms available. Go to the reception", the young man smiled at her friendly and returned to the front door. Jennifer blinked, staying in a light stupor a few seconds and then followed his advice. The girl immediately looked around. She stood in the middle of a spacious living room, done in warm Reds and golds. For a three-star hotel, the place looked quite good. Under the white ceiling hung a magnificent chandelier, and the floor was parquet and carpets. To the right of the entrance there was an area for tourists, where there were small sofas and chairs with coffee tables. Even now, at nine o'clock in the evening, it was crowded. All sat in phones or watched TV, or read books. To the left of the entrance was a small shop with Souvenirs and other trinkets that would remind you of the arrival at the hotel and Orono. In front of the entrance there is a reception, to which Jen after a couple of minutes of inspection of the lobby confidently went. The same young girl as Wright stood behind the reception and is already warmly smiled at her. Jennifer uneasily smiled and pressed the little call tweaked for the whole hall and attracting the attention of some visitors of the hotel. "Sorry. I always wanted to do that", honestly admitted the brunette. "Good evening. Can I help you?"- politely asked the administrator, pushing the loud bell to the side, away from the new visitor. "I need a cheap room for one night", Jennifer said in a slightly husky voice, but immediately cleared her throat. "Double or single?" "Do you see anyone else here besides me?" said the girl quipped, propping head with hand. The administrator nodded and buried her nose in a computer monitor, starting to look for a vacant room. Jennifer again began to explore the hall, suddenly felt someone looking at her. She tried to find this man among the campers, and her attention was attracted by a young man who immediately looked away. From afar, she could not really see him, so the brunette smiled and turned back to the administrator. "We have rooms from the fifth to the eleventh floor. They all cost 150 $ a night." Jennifer nodded and, selecting a room on the ninth floor, with a backpack and a keycard walked quietly toward the elevator, located at the end of the corridor. Clicking on the call button, she turned round and again looked at the hall. The feeling that someone watched closely, not left her. Elevator arrived, and she confidently set foot in a spacious cabin. * * * As soon as there was an unpleasant ringing at the reception, he immediately distracted from the boring book and looked at the new guest of the hotel. Imagine his surprise when he saw a young girl of twenty-five, soaking wet from the rain and like a child smiling to the administrator. She looked as pitiful as a kitten who was thrown out on the street. Wet black hair stuck to a pretty dark face with freckles, and blue eyes began to explore the luxurious hall. Inside slowly grew so familiar feeling of hunger: still, he has not eaten for several days, and maybe this person is quite suitable for dinner. In his head began to mature brilliant plan to lure another victim, which eventually should end with a good dinner. On his mouth smug smile appeared. However, it instantly disappeared from the face, he took notice how the girl managed to track down his gaze. Only now he realized that he indecently staring at her thinking through every paragraph of his cunning plan. The stranger received a keycard and quickly went to the elevators. He never took his eyes off her. Probably should have found out what floor her room was on. Right now it was worth getting up and catching up to get acquainted and instantly penetrate the unprotected human mind. But he didn't do it. Something stopped, and, dissatisfied with growling to himself, as he buried back into the book. "Mr. Grey", said the doorman, touching his shoulder. "Yes?" "Dinner will be in half an hour. You asked for a warned", explained the hotel employee, and he nodded in response. "The new guests will also be at the dinner?" the left corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. A man in red uniform followed Grey's gaze, noticing a black-haired girl near the elevators. He smiled contentedly, realizing the true intentions of a wealthy guest of the hotel. "I think so. I can tell her to go down to the restaurant for dinner." "Don't say anything," he waved, drawing attention to the book again. "If she wants, she will come." The doorman nodded and left, continuing his work. * * * Jennifer, taking off her wet clothes, threw on the shoulders of a bathrobe that was in the room. She sat down on a soft double bed, picking up the phone and immediately wrote to his father that she stayed the night in the hotel to wait out the raging hurricane. The answer wasn't long in coming. She smiled, rejoicing that forced dad not to worry. A cozy room with a great view from the window of at a small Orono pleasantly relaxed. The room was warm and dry. The rain outside the window poured like a bucket, the wind howled, and bright flashes of lightning periodically repeated with deafening thunder. It seemed that the hurricane would sweep away everything in its path, and even this is a temporary shelter for Jen. Thoughts about the trip to New York warms the soul, and the dream gradually took possession of the mind. The brunette did not mind to disconnect right now. She don't have to go anywhere anyway. She closed her eyes, making herself comfortable in bed, and preparing to plunge into the Kingdom of Morpheus, but a loud knock on the door disturbed her calm. Jen jumped out of bed and pulling on the face of his most polite smile, already opened the door. On the threshold stood one of the porters of the hotel. His an important kind of a long embarrassed the girl. "What can I help?" she asked, coughing softly in her palm. "Miss Wright, come down to our restaurant for dinner," a smirk appeared on the old man's face and he walked slowly back to the elevators. "Dinner? At half past eleven in the night?" said Jen, looking out into the corridor. "Is that necessary?" "Your dinner has already been paid." The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise, not understanding anything. Was liked her the doorman at the entrance or to the girl-administrator at the reception that some of them decided to pay for her dinner at the restaurant? In any case, Wright was not a fool and miss this opportunity - to eat for free - certainly not going. Slamming the door in the room, the brunette pulled out of the bag dry clothes: regular jeans and a decent white sweater. Looking at the reflection in the mirror, Jen appreciated her appearance: for a restaurant, of course, it was no good. Her black hair still not fully dry, slightly curled and fluffed. She smoothed them over and sprayed them with varnish to avoid sticking out in different directions. Make up the lashes mascara and highlighting the eyes with eyeliner, Jen smiled to herself. Now she can go to a restaurant, she thought. By taking over phone and the keycard, Wright locked the door and go to elevators. In the spacious cabin, except her, went down an old man she didn't looked. The stomach growled for the whole Elevator, causing the girl's cheeks suddenly acquired a pinkish hue. She heard the old man burst out laughing. Finally the cabin was on the first floor, and Jen hopped out of the elevator, stepping confidently in the direction of the restaurant. Before it opened doors, and she again felt, that proved in some very expensive hotel, not in the usual with three stars. Maybe this place has struggled hard to get two more stars to raise the prices of all its services? Stepping on the threshold of a large hall, Jennifer unwittingly opened his mouth. Perhaps, in such places she has visited extremely rarely. Money never be enough for this. The room was slightly dimmed light, and each of the white tables were compact lamps. Somewhere in the background played nice classical music, and the number of people forced Jen to doubt that she was in a small town of Orono. Can be, it all of this dream? Anyway, have this dream a very good start, thought the girl, and sat down at a free table. To her immediately the waiter came, saying that dinner tonight at the expense of the restaurant. Flattered by such attention, Jen smiled and shyly took the menu. While she was choosing her dishes, the waiter filled the empty glass with dry white wine. The brunette looked through the prices of food, realizing that she was very lucky. In her purse was not half of the money for which it would be possible to order at least one dish. "Empty place?" suddenly a pleasant male voice rang out over her ear, and Jen was immediately distracted from the menu. The tall young man smiled at her amiably. His dark brown hair was perfectly combed, black suit emphasized broad shoulders and at the same time terribly beautiful thinness. Large gray-green eyes slowly studied her neat snub nose, nice cheekbones, and plump lips that were meant for kissing. Jennifer blushing, suddenly understanding, that sees in him very similar traits with its former classmate Roy. She swallowed and turned around, looking around. Not wrong by any chance this handsome? All this must be a dream, again thought Jen, embarrassed stronger. "Uh, aren't you at the wrong table?" voiced his thoughts out loud the girl. "No", now the smile on his face was two times more charming. "Can I sit?" "Yup. Please", mumbled red as a lobster Jen nervously he picked up the glass and drank deeply. The man boldly sat down opposite, his hands folded in the lock on the table. He continued to study Jennifer, without ceasing to smile mysteriously. From such turn of events the head of the girl literally went dizzy. She was in a panic, not knowing how to behave with a person who is in financial position stood clearly above her. "And what made you sit at my table? Looking for a one-night stand? So I told you right away that I had the wrong table..." immediately quipped the brunette finally looking into the large eyes in front. "I can't just acquaint with you?" sprinkled with laughter handsome, leaning back in his chair. "For some reason, people, as soon as they find out about my wealth, immediately try to lick my ass. This is terribly annoying, especially if it’s done by females. I hope you're not like that." Jennifer chuckled, shaking her head. She's certainly not the one he meant. Dreams of a rich prince on a white horse or a white Maserati, no matter what, never visited Wright's head. Girl perfectly understood, what wants from life. And these plans certainly never had to "find a rich handsome guy to hang around his neck for the rest of her days." "What's your name?" continued guy. "Jennifer", she introduced herself, and thought that he looks an awful lot like Roy and it doesn't let her rest. "I'm Robert Grey. Nice to meet you, Jen." The girl was surprised, as he forcefully cut her name without even asking permission. And it's on the fifth minute of the meet! On Robert's face appeared again smile, but this time it was something dangerous and a little frightening. However, the brunette did not attach much importance to this. After all, she still thought that was fast asleep in my room, fantasizing about Roy, that he suddenly became fabulously rich prince. "It was quite crazy!" flashed in the girl's head, which barely withstood the gaze of the green eyes opposite. "You know, you're terribly similar to one of my friends", couldn't resist, honestly admitted Jennifer, when the waiter came to the table. "Really?" willfully surprised Robert did the ordering for both of them. "Yeah. One in one virtually. Maybe you're his lost twin brother." sneered Wright, what caused another chuckle of a mystery man. After a few minutes of silence, she added awkwardly, "It's nice to meet you too, Robert." "Just call me Rob." He watched as Jennifer looked away sheepishly and smiled. A strand of black hair she gently brushed behind her ear and reached for a glass of wine. Behind her was damn interesting to watch, and madly tossing of thoughts in her head made him difficult to know more about her. Before Robert Grey, Jen was just an open book, which he silently read, learning more and more details of her life and not forgetting to talk to her aloud, otherwise a long silence would have aroused suspicion. It's a pity she'll never know who he really is, thought Grey. Although carry on a conversation with his next victim, oddly enough, was very interesting. Perhaps the massacre of Jennifer Wright should not be rushed. On the lips of men again appeared sinister grin. It will be a small and exciting game. Definitely.

[b1ubbles]

I've been strong for so long. I'm almost at the end of my rope and I just want to get better. Fighting cancer this early, is so so much why has this come to me. I hate having to wait. I hate having to go through treatment after treatment, with just the hope and the optimism that this will be temporary before I can get better. I'm waiting for something new to come out to save me. And Ive had every emotional help under the sun, and I'm still in pain. Fighting for so long has made me so tired. And I'm crying out to God for a miracle. For something. For comfort. And I don't know where to look for his answers. And I just can't imagine what the future will look like. I'm scared and I'm tired. And I'm done. I'm not fighting it today. I'm giving myself a day off. If I can manage it... Bc nothing is working for my emotional pain.

[doctorlaelia-ffxiv]

.medicus

“Medicus Caelius!” 

The young chirurgeon looked up, sweat dripping down her brow. The heat was unforgivable and the sun was scorching. A legionary with a torso littered with shrapnel  was on the makeshift table in the medical tent, with Laelia leaning over him and covered in his blood. Now came another carried on a stretcher, her face pale and eyes wide as she held her own wound together, crimson liquid leaking through her gloves. 

The attack had come as more of an ambush, leaving unprepared legionaries helpless to the Doman rebels. Laelia looked to the chirurgeon bent over her same patient and jerked her head to the side, indicating that he was to go and attend to the injured legionary. He scrambled over to her with no argument as Laelia held a needle between her teeth, tweezers in one hand while the other delicately held a wound open to extract the shrapnel. Her nurse was looking on nervously, flinching at each drop of metal into the tray she held. 

“No time to be squeamish now, dear nurse,” Laelia murmured, glancing up to the face of the legionary she was working on. He was young. Eighteen, at best. There were bruises along his jaw, and he was drifting in and out of consciousness. An IV was being held for him by another nurse; there were no stands left to keep it held up. 

“I-I know,” the young nurse beside Laelia managed, her pale eyes wide. “...t-this is my fiance...” 

Fiance.

“Go.” The order was sudden and sharp, and both the nurse holding the IV and the one holding the tray looked surprised at the gentle doctor. Laelia looked up at the girl, her jaw tense. “Go attend to another patient, Julia.”

“No. No. I can do this. I’m a medic. I can handle this--”

Laelia rose to her feet and grabbed the girl by her arm, taking the tray and replacing it with the tweezers. Julia gasped a little as she was suddenly directly in front of the bleeding legionary, and the tears she had been making an effort to hold back came overflowing down her cheeks. Her hand that held the tweezers began to shake, and she looked helplessly up to Laelia. 

“What if I had to walk away? What if I had to attend to another patient and you were left on your own to finish this? Could you do it?” the woman asked, her tone tense but her face otherwise unreadable. “Could you reach down into your fiance and finish this by yourself?” 

“Medicus Caelius,” Julia said, her voice weak. “I... I would--”

“Then do it. I’m going to work on someone else.”

Just as Laelia was about to turn away, she heard the younger woman burst into tears completely. A slow sigh escaped her lips and she turned, nudged her out of the way, and took up the tweezers to continue working on the injured legionary. The nurse holding the IV and Julia both looked shaken, and Laelia bit her bottom lip as she focused on the next piece of shrapnel before dropping it into the tray.

“We cannot allow ourselves to get personally embroiled in our patients while they’re underneath our care. It clouds the mind. If I had let you do this, then you may have missed something. You may have opened a wound too widely and caused more bleeding. You’re a good nurse, Julia, with a promising future-- but I am not allowing you to be a part of your fiance’s treatment today. He’s going to be fine,” Laelia added, her voice softening some. “But you need to understand that we cannot walk into surgery teary-eyed and frightened. Please, go assist someone else while we finish up here.” 

It was a long night, bloody and exhausting. They lost three legionaries out of twenty. Three death reports for Laelia to write up that night. While everyone got to rest, Laelia dragged herself to her makeshift office after cleaning herself up and collapsed into her chair in front of the metal, dented desk that she’d been provided in the middle of Garlean-occupied Doma. Her shoulders felt heavy, and so did her eyes. 

Before she could even get back up to make a pot of coffee, there came a knocking on the sliding door made of paper. Laelia glanced up, saw the silhouette of someone tall and clad in a considerable amount of armor. The woman grimaced and dragged herself to her feet, going to slide the door open. Tilting her head back, she was greeted by the face of the man who was in charge of the men that had been ambushed earlier that day. 

“Decurio Silanus,” she murmured to the older man. “To what do I owe the pleasure this evening?”

“You look busy,” he commented, glancing pointedly to her empty desk. 

“I’m about to continue being very busy, yes,” she replied, stepping to the side to let the Decurio in. “I’m sorry for the losses you suffered today, sir.”

“As am I. We lost good soldiers today, Medicus. One was my nephew,” he added, his voice stiff. “Are you very sure that you did everything you could to save them?” 

Laelia’s jaw tensed as she fell back a step to look at the man properly again. He was in his forties, perhaps, his ostentatious helmet tucked beneath his arm. Cold gray eyes stared down at the chirurgeon, his receding hairline making his third eye somehow all the more prominent. 

“Yes, sir,” she replied, calmly. “I would never put anything but my very best work towards anyone on my table, as do all of the medics and nurses we worked with today. Sometimes an injury is just too big. It’s a tragedy every time, and I am truly, sincerely sorry that we lost three young men today under my charge.” 

“I find it interesting, Medicus Caelius, that you seemed to lose so few people while working in Garlemald proper, in our beautiful hospital in the center of the capitol. Tell me, are we not providing you enough resources or helping hands in the field? Is this not a comfortable environment for you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of, of course -- not everyone is cut out to be a field medic.”

“It may not seem that I did, but I assure you that I did. Medicine is not perfect and no man is immortal. Just as every other medic, I have lost good men and women, even in the bright lights and with the resources of the best hospital in Garlemald. Have I done something wrong, Decurio?” Still controlled, quiet, polite. This was the Laelia that was better known, the one that had gotten a reputation as a brilliant student and chirurgeon. 

His helmet clattered onto his desk as he paced around it, like he was about to take up her seat behind it. Instead, he lifted her bloodied surgeon’s coat, one that needed to be thrown out. There was no saving it. Raising a brow, the Decurio turned and looked to Laelia before draping the coat back over the trunk he had lifted it from. She folded her arms beneath her bust, resisting the urge to close her eyes and just let herself drift to sleep as she stood. 

“There have been rumors flitting about,” the man started, casually, “that you’re not always in your quarters when you’re supposed to. One of my men reported that he thought he saw you sneaking off towards an enemy base. I just worry that perhaps your time, energy, and mental fortitude may be being used in... other areas, rather than the one you’re assigned to.”

“What, exactly, is your meaning, Decurio Silanus? I’m afraid all of my mental fortitude was spent doing my best in a crowded, hot, bleeding tent all day and for the better part of the night,” she replied, still collected, but her tone was tight. 

The Decurio half smiled and stepped back out from around her desk. As he approached, she could smell the sweat on him, only gathering and growing more pungent beneath his armor. His sword was so large that it nearly dragged over the tatami mats on the floor, and his footsteps were heavy, calculated, like some animal closing in on its prey. Leaning down, it gave her the opportunity to see the wrinkles around his eyes and just how small they really were, the cracked skin of his lips, the age spot on his temple. 

“Are you offering the Empire’s medicine and one of its medics to the savages on the other side of the hill, Miss Caelius?” the man asked, quietly. “Believe me, if I don’t find a satisfactory answer here, I can always consult the primus pilus.”

“Medicus,” she corrected, meeting his steely gaze. “And no, sir, it is not true. I have not offered any Garlean medicine or assistance to any savages, in any posting I have taken up or been offered. I’m sure the primus pilus would be more than happy to attest to my loyalty to both the oath I took as a doctor and to my loyalty to my country, but it would be a terrible shame to bother him over such a matter, don’t you think?”

Laelia sighed, moving over to the jacket she had draped over the back of her chair and fishing for her linkpearl. The pale blue device sat innocently in her hand, and she looked down at it, and then up to the Decurio. He seemed to freeze in place at the mention of the primus pilus, seemed shocked that the medicus had such access to the high-ranking military official. 

“I’m sure he’s asleep. It’s terribly late. And one should never poke a lion, so to speak, but-- this is a very serious matter. I’d not have you worrying over it, nor, too, would our pilus. A question of loyalty-- what could be of greater importance?” Laelia asked, her tone very serious. “So we wake Lucius rem Sylla, or disturb him while he’s doing something important, or you can take my word for it. Believe me -- I do not offer my word if I cannot keep it.

“I know that today has been very upsetting, Decurio Silanus. I know that you work so hard to preserve Garlemald and the men under your care. You are the picture of a loyal servant to your nation. Any loss is a hard one to suffer, but especially one in the family. You have my deepest condolences. I’m sorry that I couldn’t do more for your nephew, but I swear to you, I did all that I could, and that he died bravely, as a loyal servant to Garlemald.”

Decurio Silanus exhaled as he watched the young chirurgeon. She was cool, calm, and collected, even patient and kind. Pale eyes like the sky were focused on him, gentle but tired. He could see the bags forming beneath them. And in her hand sat something as good as a weapon -- a means to immediately contact primus pilus Lucius rem Sylla. Previous dealings with that man had not been enjoyable for the Decurio. When he hesitated, Laelia offered a small smile.

“I always do what I think is right, in my medical opinion,” she told him. “I promise -- I have not attended to any savages.” 

“...You’re right. It has been a... trying day, Medicus Caelius. I apologize for the intrusion. You must have more work to do before you can sleep, and I’m sorry for causing a delay. Please, let me intrude no more.” 

The man stiffened up to impart a salute against his chest, and Laelia did the same, only exhaling when he appeared to be completely gone from the building. Sinking into her chair, she rubbed her temples and closed her eyes.

“Ass.”

(( mentions: @myterribleboysffxiv ))

[jessefferguson]

My Double Life: 5 Years And Going

It’s been a LONG TIME since I wrote one of these, so I figured now was as good a point as any.

Words, spoken out loud, are funny. They can mean very different things.

Try this one:

I am still here.

and

I am still here.

Both of those are the best summary I can think of for how I feel today since today, May 21, is the 5th anniversary of when I was diagnosed with cancer. Five years ago, I sat in a sweltering doctors office in Washington, D.C. as he told me the results of my first biopsy. Five years later, I still have it.

After 5 years, I have two conflicting emotions: I’m still here (thank God) and I’m still (only) here. Five years later, not much has really changed but, also, everything has.

Over the 5 years, I’ve sort of lived a double life – that of a cancer patient and that of a political operative. Sometimes they overlap but, more often than not, they’re separate worlds.

By my best count, over the 5 years, I’ve had 4 surgeries, 33 days of radiation, upwards of 60 rounds of either chemotherapy or targeted therapy, about 75 blood tests, and 150 doctors’ appointments. And over the same 5 years, I’ve worked on 191 television ads, 311 polls, thousands of press releases and speeches, spent over $100 million (of other people’s money), and sent over 40,000 of my own tweets.

I continue to believe the same thing I did – and wrote about - 5 years ago, there are three keys to getting through this sort of thing: (1) Your family and friends; (2) Doctors who are the best; (3) Doing something with your time that you love to do. Even on the worst days of work, the fact that I was doing the work I wanted to do made it that much more possible to fight a disease I did not want to deal with.

WHAT’S THE LATEST WITH ME

I’m living and working from Brooklyn, still. I decided to stay here after the Clinton campaign ended rather than move back to D.C. for a bunch of reasons – closer to my doctors at Sloan Kettering and further from Trump at the WH. Both sounded like good ideas.

For just under a year, I’ve been on a clinical trail and it’s getting some pretty good results. It’s a targeted therapy drug and I’m one of the first to apply it to my unique disease. It’s unlikely to result in me being “cured” or “cancer free” but it’s definitely shrunk the disease in my skin tissue and throughout my head, neck and chest. It’s also brought down the swelling. The swelling issues are far from gone, but they’re better. The best case is that it continues shrinking things; the next best case is it stops anything from getting worse again. Either way, it’s turned my condition to a chronic one, for now. I’ll take it.

Every three weeks I do the same routine. I book a someone to come clean my house for that morning and I take a car down to Sloan Kettering.  I take a blood test. The doctor and I talk about medical stuff for a few minutes and politics for a few minutes and then he sends me for treatment. He’s not from America and has a healthy interest in all the crazy things in our politics.

It takes them about 2 hours to prepare the drug, so I have found a corner in the hospital that is usually empty for work — open the laptop, put on the head set and get to work. It’s my own cancer-center-based mobile-office. I have edited TV scripts and polls, held conference calls, did a radio interview and even convinced a donor to contribute – all from a table in a hospital waiting room. Last week’s discussion was about the placement of a media buy. It’s amazing what you can pull of when people don’t really know where you are.

The drug I’m on is an easy one – targeted therapy. It’s like a smart bomb of chemo that only goes to the cells that have the disease. The worst part is the IV, which I barely notice anymore and after 30 minutes, I’m out. On the road home to a clean house with the mild side effect of an uneasy stomach for a few days. Compared to the other drugs I’ve been on, this is like a piece of cake took a walk in a park.

How long will I stay on it? No clue. But it has made this condition chronic. If you offered me a deal today — get this treatment every 3 weeks for 30 minutes and the disease stays under control, I’d sign in a minute. I’d sign it for the next 10 years. For now, I’ll stay on it unless or until it stops working – then I’ll try something else.

WHAT HAPPENED SINCE 2016

As you may remember from my last blog post, just before election 2016, I had spent the previous 6 months working while dealing with the return of my disease.

On election night 2016, I did venture out. It wasn’t something I did often but I wanted to be with the team that night at the Javits Center in Manhattan. I could, now, try to pretend that I had doubts about the outcome of that night to try to make myself look extra smart, but that would be bullshit. I didn’t; I thought we’d win.

The beginning of that afternoon and evening were great. We were monitoring voting and doing the work we needed to do and I was also seeing some good friends who I had been away from while I worked the last few months from home.

Then, the results started and the mood changed. My heart started to sink, but I kept hoping. Florida, North Carolina, Ohio and others poured in. We knew we needed to hold Michigan, Wisconsin and Pennsylvania to make it work.

While we waited for those results, I got up to go to the bathroom. As I stood at the urinal, a friend who had better sense for numbers and data than I do, approached the stall next to me. We looked at each other with the same forlorn look of despair as if our confidence was waning. He said “I just looked at the latest data from Michigan; it’s gone.”  And with that, I found out we had lost in a way befitting the occasion -- standing at a urinal.  

Whether you believe we lost because of a mission from Russia or a miss in Michigan, or any other reason, one thing was clear: we lost the electoral college. It was over. And while I stared at my peers and colleagues – friends who had hired me and  friends who I had hired – I couldn’t stop thinking, “What’s next?”

Despite what you might see or hear, the group who I worked with on that campaign were some of the smartest, most talented and most committed people I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. As I stared at all of them, I wonder what was next for them. As I thought about it more, I worried what was next for me.  

At one point, I wandered away and ended up sitting in the middle of the massive loading dock in the Javits Center with 4 senior staff from the campaign. There where shipping boxes, fork lifts, and one table with a few plastic chairs in the middle. We all just kind of stared at each other. Someone would say something about what we should do or what we should say and we’d all agree but, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you today what anyone said.  

As the night ended, I was one of the last ones to leave. I’m not really sure why, I just couldn’t. I kept finding someone else to talk to. I was trying to be a bit of team cheerleader – as best as was possible at that moment.  

At around 4:30am that night, I left the Javits center along side two reporters I had gotten to know. We walked for a bit and then they got into cabs and drove off. I just started walking. And walking. I was thinking about what had happened and what it meant for the country. And, if I’m honest, what it meant for me. I had cancer and had just devoted two years of my life to trying to win the presidency – and had failed. I just kept thinking, maybe even crying a bit, and walking.

When I looked up, it was 6 am and the sun was rising. I had walked from the Javits Center at 36th street down almost to the World Trade Center. Much like I did while wandering around the streets of Washington on May 21, 2013, I had done lots of thinking. But now it was November 9, 2016, and it was time to go back to work. I took a cab home, slept for a few hours, and opened my laptop.

WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING SINCE

Since the campaign ended in 2016, I’ve been “consulting.” I’m still not sure what “consulting” means but it’s what I’m doing. I’m working on my own for a variety of political projects on a variety of important issues, trying to lend my experience to things where I think I can do something interesting and make a difference in the insane moment we’re in right now.

My work has ranged from the fight over the tax plan and some new digital campaign innovations, to a new polling project and an advertising campaign and others. It’s all kept me busy and kept my mind going – in the fight and doing what I love to do. The work is good cause it’s meaningful, it’s the work I want to be doing, and the variety of projects appeals to my attention-span-of-a-fruit-fly-nature.

It’s also allowed me to speak up a bit more about what I think, which has been quite a change. For the last 15+ years, I’ve always represented someone else – the DCCC Chairman, Secretary Clinton, etc. Now I’m speaking more and writing more in my own voice.

I still feel somewhat like a hermit. I live and work in my Brooklyn apartment. I get out more now than I used to, but, nothing like I did when I was healthy. When you’ve been dealing with this as long as I have, you start to lose track of what looking, feeling and being normal would be like. I get to the deli almost every morning and they know to make my eggs and have my iced coffee ready. Others around know me too. Life is easy and that’s important for me right now. One of these days, I’ll be up for making it harder again – but not yet.

THE HEALTH CARE ISSUE

The first project I took on was to help some friends with the coalition fighting the Obamacare repeal legislation. It’s been a hard-waged battle over the last 16 months to improve health care for people instead of letting it get dismantled.

But it’s also been the first time my double lives overlapped a bit. When the Affordable Care Act passed Congress, I was at my office near capitol hill, celebrating with everyone else. But it didn’t really mean anything to me. It was a good thing, but it wasn’t personal.

Seven years later, when repeal of it failed – repeal that would undercut protections for people with pre-existing conditions like I have – it was a very different moment. In fact, when the first repeal plan was pulled from the House floor, I was actually sitting at Sloan Kettering getting my chemo. I was on the phone talking with someone working with me while in the  hospital room getting treated as a news alert came across my computer screen.

I don’t often invoke my own personal health care situation while working on the issue because it shouldn’t be about me. I’m fortunate and would be able to get the care I needed if I had to. But sitting there at age 37, with an IV bag dripping a toxic chemical designed to keep me alive into my arm, I certainly had a different perspective than I had 8 years earlier as an otherwise-healthy, overweight 29 year old who saw passage of the ACA as a good reason to go to the bar and celebrate.

FIVE YEARS AND COUNTING

Once and a while I think about what I could be doing if I was fully healthy. I get sad. Maybe I get mad. As I approach 38 years old at the end of this year, more and more of my friends are having their first or second child and I’m forced to think if my life would be different if I hadn’t gotten this diagnosis five years ago. For sure, it would be. But, in the end, you play the cards your dealt and make damn well sure it’s a game you enjoy. You could win big or you could lose your shirt, but either outcome has to be worth it.

Five years ago I was diagnosed with a disease that probably should have killed me. Five years later, I’m still here. When I put it that way, it actually brings a smile to my face. I know talking about having cancer isn’t something that normally is joyful but being able to do what I love while living with the disease sure beats the alternative.

[ask-constantinvaldor]

Say at least one bad thing about every primarch, plus the emperor if you want. Maybe even the other custodes too if you're feeling like it.

*Sips Hot chocolate and pulls out a piece of paper.*

I.  “Despite his knightly demeanor and all his talk of honor and loyalty, The Lion was far too willing to keep secrets, even when he could and should have told the truth.  He believed he should have been chosen Warmaster simply because he was the 1st primarch ever created.  He was unable to  relate to mortals and even his own Legion.  He demanded respect and obedience, but rarely gave it to others, even his own brothers and adopted father.”

II.  REDACTED (They made the mistake of facing me, they should have fled and lived a little longer. Not that they could have escaped the Ten Thousand and I.)

III. “For all his talk of perfection, Fulgrim failed to see the perfection in humility and doing his duty,   All he ever wanted was glory and adoration. He wanted everyone to  sing his praises from the highest mountaintops and the lowest of gutters.” 

IV “Perturabo never should have been given command of a legion.  Like Fulgrim he wanted praise and glory for his achievement.  While paranoia is a strength, Perturabo saw criticism and enemies everywhere, even when it did not exist and even among his own family.  He believed Rogal Dorn was his rival but this rivalry  was a product of his own deranged mind.  His treatment of his Legionaries was sick and disgusting,   While victory cannot be achieved without sacrifice, Perutrabo murdered one in ten of his own legionaries when he was reunited with them, simply because they did not meet his achievable standards.  He spent their lives like a spoiled prince spends gold,  War was never a necessary evil for him, it was an equation and a bill at his doorstep,  One he was too eager to solve by spending his own son’s lives.”

V “The Khan was always a mercurial  soul. A paradox.   Reckless one moment, overcautious and dawdling the next.  A bloodthirsty hound and a diplomat.  A admirable, cultured and philosophical man, and a barbarian that mounted the heads of his foes on his jetbike,  In his desire to not be a tyrant, he neglected discipline and too many White Scars considered becoming traitors, yet in his widsom, he granted them atonement through battle. In short, he traveled down many paths,and ran off the road constantly,  Thankfully the one road he stayed on was one of loyalty.”

VI  “ Leman,.. Like Dorn, I admire him for his steadfast loyalty and envy him for how simple things are for him   Simply tear the Emperor’s enemies apart and follow orders like a good little corgi.  Yet, he is a hypocrite, He claimed his Rune Preists used the power of Fenris, when one could smell the musk of the Warp on them a mile away.  The culture of Fenris may have saved the VIth legion from  tearing itself apart, but it was anathema to the Imperial Truth.  He always assumed the worst in Magnus and that he was always right,  So self-righteous, so  eager to charge with his axe raised high.  So changeable. One second he’s offering you  a tankard of Mjol, The next, you’re head’s been removed and being chewed on by one of his wolves  and he’s bedded your wife, cousin, sister and daughter at the same time. He always chose the most violent and direct option, even when diplomacy might have prevailed.  If I  had brought a leash for him, perhaps Prospero might not been destroyed,and the handful of innocents on the wretched rock might have lived.”  

VII  “I admire Dorn  for his refusal  to compromise his ideals, his honesty and his zeal.   I wish I shared his idealism.  But his refusal to compromise is his greatest weakness.  He is more stubborn than a mule.  He would rather win a moral victory and lose the tactical war than make a hard or dishonorable decision that keep you up at night.  In addition he will not accept that  Arlette will not let him fortify the Tranquil Courts.”

VII  “Konrad Curze  refused to  accept help for dealing with his visions dammed him.  He saw only one way to bring justice, through fear.  The Night Lords were a necessary evil, but under him they became nothing but a band of criminals, He claimed to be a bringer of justice.  A rather bold claim when one skinned men, women, and children alive.”

IX. “Sanguinus was compassionate and empathetic, but he never saw humans as people, he treated them like pets. For all his humiltiy, he basked in thier admiration like a tanner in the sun,  Some part of him he refuses to admit enjoy’s how they view him   He was too idealistic, and like Dorn refused to compromise on his ideals when it would be necessary.  He was also  surprisingly short tempered and hateful on  occasion.   I’m not sure if he knew this, but to some of the Silent Sisterhood, he came off as Misogynist.”  

X “ Ferrus Mannus was incredibly short tempered.  For all his and his legion’s cold-hearted and automata like behavior, he emotions collared him and kept him on his knees like a slave.  He said he would purge the silver from his hand and ban the voluntary cybernetics of the Iron Tenth when the Great Crusade was done, yet if he had the strength he boasted so much of, he would have done it already.  if he was logical  as he claimed to be, he would not have died on Isstvan V.”

XI [REDACTED]

XII.  “Although Angron would not accept it, I pity him.  The Emperor should have let him die.  The Butcher’s Nails have stolen any chance he had for  a happy life, Yet the Butcher’s Nails does not excuse  forcing them to  be implanted them in his men.”

XIII “ Roboute is a statesman second only to Malcador.   What he has done with Ultramar is nothing but remarkable. However, his obsession with control and efficiency, and his idealism, means everything must conform. Everything must be right or it will all fall apart.  He cares for mortals, but like Sanguinius he believes he is their better and knows what’s best for them.  Like the Lion, he demanded respect and obedience, and while he did earn it from his subordinates, like his brother, he had scorn for those who disagreed with his vision and banished them from his presence like the nobleman he denied he was.  One can look no further than the 22nd chapter of the Ultramarines.  These men are Destroyer’s and primarily Terrans from the old XIIIth legion.  Many of their number also come from Ultramar and their Chapter Master is from  the 500 Worlds. Yet the 22nd has a distinctive and unique culture that makes them stand out among the XIIIth ad other legion’s Destroyer Corps.  Gulliman has made his dislike of Destroyer’s weaponry well known and their culture does not fit into his idealized view of his Legion , so he keep them at arms length like a red-headed stepchild. “

XIV.  “Mortarion’s  dislike towards Psykers, while justified due to the abuse of his foster father and the suffering he inflicted on him and the people of Barbarus, does not excuse his blind and irrational  hatred for all of them.  In addition,  he lavished his affection on the legionaries from Barbarus and disbanded the Librarius of his legion.  This made the former Librarians feel like illegitimate children.   Mortarion was a prideful as Fulgrim, and could not accept the fact the Emperor had to save his life. When Mortarion spat on his oaths, he became the very thing he and the old XIVth legion swore to destroy,  a tyrant with a callous disregard for life.”

XV “Magnus was arrogant. He believed himself superior to his brothers because of his abilities. He was a glutton for knowledge, but for all of his knowledge, Magnus was not very wise, and in his folly, dammed our entire species.”

XVI  “  Horus… *sighs and takes a swig of hot chocolate*  As much as I hate to admit it and as much as I tried to turn a blind eye  to it,  Horus was arrogant and acted like a spoiled brat.  For all  his tactical brilliance, for all his humor and kindness, He graved glory and adoration not for his Legion or for humanity,  but for himself.   Like Fulgrim, he wished all to bask in his glory and sing his praises.  Horus wanted statues of himself, wanted people to prostrate themselves before him.  He wanted their affection and love and to say “Yes Horus you are so brilliant what would we do without you.”  

An old quote came to me regarding Horus Lupercal. “Veni Vidi Vici”    Horus Came, he saw galaxy and humanity, and wished to conquer it.  First for the Emperor, now for himself and his sick desires,”

XVII   Lorgar is complicated.   Arlette and I advised to Emperor to be merciful, when He censured him   After the II and XI, I could not bear to slay another one of His children, and Lorgar’s transgression  was nothing compared to  the horrors the II and XI wrought on humanity.    And I sympathized,  with him not wishing to be a warrior, to try and be something besides another warlord.  After all, when the crusade ended, and if Emperor’s safety could be absolutely guaranteed for eternity, i would live in a cave high in Himalzia with sheep for food and company and indulge in falconry and blacksmithing and toymaking and compose philosophical  treaties. I could venture down from  my solitude and strike down injustice and distribute candy and toys  to children.  

I was a dammed fool.

Like Leman, he was so changeable. He was like a child’s bouncy ball.  Except he was loyal and devout in  a misguided way, and than wicked, traitorous and spiteful, burning works and unleashing damnation with a smile on his face.  

Lorgar had such faith in Emperor, he deified him,  raised statues and built church’s all for Him.  Now he is devoted to the Primordial Annihilator and will do anything to please his gods.

If only he had such  faith in Humanity.

XVIII “ Vulkan’s Promethean Creed is an admirable philosophy.  He had a heart bigger than an Ordinatus and kindness, compassion and smiling all came so easily to him.  I envy him for his effortless kindness.   Kindness, compassion and smiling are all things the Ten Thousand must hone as much as our skills in  assassination and bladework.

Yet that compassion in his greatest weakness, Vulkan is not a warrior, he is a builder, a worker ant defending his anthill out of love. A blacksmith who forged all his creation but his weapons with pride.”  

XIX “ Corax’s goal of liberating those in bondage is an admirable goal. Yet for all his time spend hiding in shadows, he failed to  recognize necessary evils. On  a personal note, I believe this character flaw led to his Terran legionaries meeting an ignoble end.”

XX  The Alpha Legion began as a hammer in the shadow, another necessary evil.   Yet when  Alpharius took  control, they became a twisted serpent.  The old Christian devil in  the form of a Hydra. Alpharius was a glutton for complicated plots and schemes.  He is intoxicated on suffering and disorder.  He is like  Horus in the regard that all must know they were outsmarted by him.  All most know that as soon  as they sat down at the Regicide table with him, they were played like a damn fiddle.”  

Any complaint’s about the Emperor, I shall keep to myself.

Arlette and I may have our disagreements, but we have each other’s back.  

The only custodian I can complain about is Diocletion. He is quite frankly, a Dick.  Empathy and compassion are skills he must learn.  Time with the Ligo  Aetos and humanity itself will be his teacher. “